by Keri Hudson
Jack nodded but said nothing. He noted the purity of her smile, but also the bittersweet glisten in her eyes. She seemed to feel a real connection to them, and they certainly had one toward her. Jack hadn’t seen this facet of that fabled and mysterious connection of fan to performer, but Layla was revealing more to him than he ever expected. There was more to that connection than a wanton public on one side and a desperate and insecure entertainer who clung to the illusion of the love of utter strangers. In Jack’s eyes, the two had been conjoined by a cable of currency, money passing in one direction, dutiful productivity in the other, until one side or the other gradually disconnected and the inevitable happened.
But she wasn’t performing for them there or then; they were paying her nothing. News of her accident had broken and it had stirred these people, complete and utter strangers, to put down their lives for a time, set aside their own myriad problems, and focus on somebody else for a change.
Maybe that’s all they really want, Jack had to reflect. Layla too. Jack’s blood ran cold to realize, And… me too.
But only one thing could distract Layla from that show of unqualified love and acceptance and care, to a similar show of those very things, and what they’d revealed to Layla about Jack Billings.
“So, they didn’t discover your secret… during the physical?” Jack wasn’t sure how to answer, clinging to a notion that she might have chalked up the event to a hallucination. “Doesn’t shifter blood show up on their tests, or did you just talk your way out of it altogether?” Jack remained quiet, and Layla put a hand on his upper arm, a comforting gesture. “Jack, it’s okay. I mean… I can’t believe I’m in love with a shifter, but… it’s not much different than, I dunno, being with a black guy or whatever. I don’t judge, y’know?”
Jack looked her over. Clearly she knew his secret, and having seen it herself, had to believe it. But she seemed to accept it so readily, even after having had a few hours to digest it. And her use of the word shifter troubled him too; few enough humans knew the phrase, and those who did were often antagonistic and definitely never revealed all that they knew.
Jack was struck with a sudden suspicion of her which sent his heart and mind reeling. Though careful not to show it, Jack was struck with the notion that he’d stumbled into a trap of some sort, that this woman was more than she appeared. No wonder she makes such a good impression for some tarted-up pop singer!
But before he could begin to coax out some complex lie, Layla simply said, “Jack… I’m a believer! I mean, the world is so vast, the Universe is so complex, God and… well, there’s just so much we don’t know, that’s all. Aliens? I mean, mathematically, every scientist agrees there’s certain to be intelligent life on other planets.” Jack nodded, saying nothing. Layla went on, “Angel sightings, chupacabra, I believe in all that stuff; shifters too, obviously.”
Jack nodded, saying nothing as he digested her explanation, equal amounts of confusion rising up to confront his new doubt.
“So it’s true that there are wolf shifters, clearly; is it true about the bears? What do they call them?”
After a long pause, Jack decided to say, “Ursine,” in truth saying a lot more than that.
“Right! Ursine and canine.”
“Lupine,” Jack said. “Canine means dog-like. We’re not dogs.”
“Right, sorry. Is there a… like a prejudice thing there?” But before he could answer, she waved the question off. “You’re right, never mind; doesn’t matter.” Layla seemed to think it through, as if reviewing the facts from her memory of the event, comparing it to what she thought she knew. “So, you did it… at will; shifted, I mean. It’s not about a full moon or anything like that.”
“No,” Jack confirmed.
“But that was pretty hairy… sorry, didn’t mean to offend, but… is it related to that, crisis and adrenaline and all that, like the Incredible Hulk?”
Jack shook his head. Does she really not know, or is she trying to disguise some real expertise that she plans to use against me?
“It was a strategic choice,” Jack said. “There was nothing more I could do in my human form.”
Layla nodded. “And you saved me, when you could have just left me to burn in that car and saved yourself. Would have been a lot easier for you.”
“No,” Jack said, looking deep into her eyes. “That would have been impossible for me.” They neared one another, lips drawing to a kiss.
A news copter buzzed by the window, slow enough to capture some good footage, so Jack and Layla stepped away from the window to sit on the bed. The copter flew off, its rotors quickly fading.
“What did you tell the doctor who looked you over? Weren’t there bite marks on your shoulder? I tried to be gentle, but I had to be firm.”
She looked him over with one brow raised. “I like when you’re firm.” They shared a little chuckle. “I told him I was working with a tiger on a rock video shoot, just before the accident.”
“He bought that?”
“What was he going to assume, that I’d been dragged from the wreckage by a werewolf?”
Jack didn’t have to give that much thought. “Good point. Speaking of what we’re going to say, we’ll have to talk to the cops, and the press.” Layla nodded, and Jack went on, “What do we tell them?”
Layla shrugged and looked into Jack’s eyes. “The truth?”
Jack was struck by the simplicity of her answer. And he was confident that she had the intellectual wherewithal to make that choice and to implement it. He knew he could not reveal the full truth of his own condition, but he knew that she knew it too. Jack could put this in Layla’s capable hands, and he would be standing behind her in case it went entirely to shit, which was always possible and increasingly probable.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It took an hour to deal with the cops, Jack and Layla having to tell the story to two different uniformed officers before finally telling their story together to a balding, bony Sgt. Thomas Spangler. The man listened closely, calmly, providing as much professional comfort as he seemed to feel necessary.
The only missing piece was the identity of the driver behind them on that winding mountain road—either a hit-and-run reckless driver or an attempted murderer on the loose. But it would have to remain an unanswered question for the time being, Sgt. Spangler assuring them he’d do his best to track the culprit down.
Jack and Layla were finally released and reunited, but they still had to get through the massive crowd in front of the hospital, thousands of fans and dozens of news crews, mics and cameras pointed up as Layla and Jack stepped out of the lobby.
Fans screamed, cameras clicked, and reporters shouted Layla’s name among an incoherent stream of questions. Layla held up her hand to quiet them as Jack surveyed the crowd. There were too many people to clock, and a handgun could be leveled at her from almost any direction. It would come fast, unannounced; Jack knew no assassin would run up and point a gun, giving everybody chance enough to intercept or intercede or get Layla out of the way. Jack knew Layla would be hit before the report of the shot even rang out, likely dead before she hit the ground.
His body tense, senses alert, Jack focused on the crowd, Layla’s voice droning in the back of his ear.
“First of all,” Layla said, “I want to thank my fans. Everybody who came out, everybody who couldn’t but kept me in their hearts, I… I’m really touched and moved, and I’m so grateful for each and every one of you.”
Jack couldn’t deny the purity of her emotions and intentions, impressed by the words he never would have believed coming from anyone else, or even coming from Layla herself one short week before.
“And I’m also very happy to say that I am fine, thanks entirely to the quick action of my personal bodyguard here. He’s asked to remain unnamed, and I am respecting that request.”
The reporters threw up another froth of clamoring questions, Layla nodding and speaking to quiet them again. “As we just told the police… severa
l times… we don’t know exactly what was going on in the car behind us during the accident. But what we do know is this: we were struck at least twice before our car was run off the road. We don't know if they were drunk or just in a hurry or what. We didn't get a license plate, but we’ve given the police all the details we had.”
One man asked, “Why was your bodyguard naked?”
Another asked, “Were you having sex in the car when it went over?”
A third tossed out, “Is this really just a publicity stunt?”
Jack wanted to answer, but he resisted that temptation. So Layla answered, “This was not, I repeat, not a publicity stunt! We were not making love in the car… you think we could have gotten out in time if that were the case? C’mon, I know how tempting it is to believe all these salacious details, and I know I have this reputation, but… you’ve got to use some common sense.”
“Could it have been Cy Davenport? Word is he’s still off the grid.”
Layla shrugged. “I told you, we don't know who it was or why they were driving that way. If it was Cy, no matter who it was, I hope that person gets some professional help before they seriously hurt or even kill someone… me, for example!”
The reporters chuckled, Jack impressed with her quick wit and plain-spoken wisdom. Unlike with so many other women he’d known, the more Layla spoke, the more he liked her.
“But I’m very happy to say that I’m in perfect condition, and there’s no reason why I shouldn’t… or won’t… go on with my performance at the Staples Center this week.”
After another flurry of questions, Layla pointed at one person who asked, “Are you really going to do a trio with Britney and Miley?”
Layla gave that a little thought. “I hadn’t heard anything about that. Sounds like a great idea, though… call me, girls!”
The crowd chuckled, more cameras clicking, fans shouting in the background. One voice leaked out, “We love you, Layla!”
“Oh,” Layla said with a creased brow, hands on her heart, “I love you too, I really do!” They cheered, and Jack surveyed them; he took in their genuine love and affection, clear to anybody and by any measure.
But true fans weren’t Jack’s concern.
One reporter asked, “What about all those protesters at the Staples Center? You think any of them could have something to do with this?”
But before Layla could answer, Jack leaned forward and said, “That’s all,” before pulling Layla away amid a flurry of other questions. He held his hand out to separate the crowd and create a path to the waiting black limo in front of the hospital.
Once in the limo, Layla asked, “What’s wrong? You see somebody you didn't like? Nobody with a gun or anything?”
Jack shook his head. “Layla, you and I both know that accident on Mulholland was no accident. Somebody was trying to murder you, murder us both—though I’m sure you were the primary target. We have to take this seriously, find out who’s behind it before they try again.”
Layla seemed to give it some thought, but her expression didn’t belie any shock. Jack deduced she’d already accepted this fact, but she was probably hoping it wasn’t so, that Jack wouldn’t have to confirm it.
He’d been hoping the same thing.
“If one of those groups is behind it, we don’t want them to think we’re onto them.”
“The protesters? Not… not Cy, you don’t think? He was the caller, I think.”
“You said you’d recognize his voice.”
“I thought I would, but… he is an actor, after all.”
Jack gave it some thought, not willing to strike the man’s name from his list of suspects. But there were other names on that list, the two groups of protesters principle among them.
“All the same, let’s keep the protesters off the record, if we can. The way you did on the television program, that was good.”
Layla nodded. She wore an angry pout, but she seemed to know that Jack was the man to listen to in the events to come, and that she should accept his praise without being snotty about it. Jack was glad to see she was already maturing even beyond her previous level of growth, which had already impressed her. Her potential seemed limitless, if she lived long enough to fulfill it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cindy Connors had seen Jack and Layla into Stewart Mathers’ office on Sunset Boulevard and then made herself scarce. Jack didn’t doubt what kind of reprimand she’d received for having interrupted their previous meeting. He was almost surprised to see her still on the concert promotor’s staff.
But Lorelei didn’t seem to give the girl any thought at all, which made perfect sense to Jack. Cindy was Stewart’s personal assistant, not Lorelei Schaffer’s golden goose.
“This is outrageous,” Lorelei shouted, pointing her finger at Jack like it was a gun. “I should have you arrested right now.”
“Mom,” Layla said, “you really shouldn’t talk to him like that.”
“It’s about time somebody did, I should think. You demanded that car, that house, you chose both! To me, that means you were in on all this from the start!”
“Mother!”
“Oh please, I was always suspicious of this goon! Justice department… yeah, right!”
“Actually,” Stewart said with a nod and a shrug, “that’s true.”
“That’s what you think,” Lorelei said. “But you’re as eager to be fooled as anybody! How much can you trust your resources?”
“Well, I—”
“Well, I—” Lorelei repeated. Well, I smell a rat!” Lorelei paced around the office. “All those protesters, now this…” She spun to face Jack again, pointing that furious finger. “What’s really going on here, Dirty Harry?”
“You point that finger at me again,” Jack said, “you’ll pull back a stump.”
“Um,” Layla said, “he means that, Mother.”
But Lorelei went on to say to Jack, “You do your worst! This is my daughter you’re messing with, Frankenstein! This is my little girl! I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to protect her…” She turned to face Stewart to add, “From people like you,” then spun back to Jack, adding, “and people like you!”
But Jack calmly said, “What if I told you… you were right?”
Lorelei’s rage was derailed by confusion, Layla and Stewart looking on. “Huh?”
“Not about me, at least not as far as you seem to think.”
Layla couldn’t help but say, “Jack?”
But Jack went on addressing Lorelei. “But there is something going on, I think you’re right. And I think Layla is at the center of it; as a target, I mean. I was ready to discount it before, but now… it’s more than I can ignore.”
“Because you’re at the heart of it,” Lorelei said.
“No,” Jack responded, “and for you to go on thinking that will only hamper our efforts to keep her safe. You can go on thinking it if you like, but say it again and I’ll have to take… serious issue with it.”
“Do what he says, Mother.”
“Your daughter’s right about that,” Jack said. “Because if there is something going on, some… conspiracy, perhaps, and it’s associated with those protesters—”
Lorelei said, “You mean… terrorism?”
“Well,” Jack said, “I see your daughter’s intelligence has somehow rubbed off on you.”
Lorelei shook her head and put up her hands, flattened palms out. “That’s it, we’re out.”
Layla said, “Mother!”
“Don’t Mother me, Layla! I’m not gonna hang around here and watch somebody nine-eleven your ass!”
“That won’t happen,” Stewart said.
“You can’t make that promise!”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
Lorelei shouted, “Tell it to Paul Mc-fucking-Cartney! We’re going back to New York, where something like this could never happen!”
“Mother, take it easy.”
“Shut up and pack your things.”
“No, Mother! You pack your bags if you want, but I’m staying!”
Lorelei looked at Layla with wide eyes, lips quivering. “You’ll do as I say, young lady.”
“No, Mother, I won’t, not anymore.”
“This is no time for another one of your silly rebellions. You had your fling with this stiff, now we—”
“I’m not going to be scared off, Mother! If I do, what’ll happen? Others will get the message, do the same thing. The whole concert will fall apart.”
“So what?”
But Stewart said, “Hey, hey, we’ve got millions of dollars invested here—”
“It’s a benefit concert,” Lorelei shouted.
Stewart nodded. “Yeah, and a lot of people stand to benefit! We certainly can’t afford just to cut our losses, we’ll be ruined!”
“I don’t care about all that,” Layla said. “I won’t be the one to back down, that’s all there is to it.”
Lorelei shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Jack said, “She’s right.”
“Big shock you’d say that,” Lorelei said. “What do you care? You’ve already—”
“Mother!”
“She’s as right as you are,” Jack went on to Lorelei. “If there’s a terrorist conspiracy here, we have to stay and root it out. If Layla runs away and they still strike, how weak and culpable we’ll all be. You can all do what you want, but I’m staying to investigate this, make sure if anybody’s planning anything, that they won’t pull it off.”
“And I’m staying here with you,” Layla said, weaving her left arm in the crook of Jack’s right.
“What do you think you’re gonna do,” Lorelei demanded, “go out and perform in a bulletproof vest?”
“If that’s all I wore,” Layla said, “I’ll bet that would look pretty hot. Make quite a statement, too.”
Lorelei said, “Don’t even think about it.”
But Layla snapped back, “I’ll be doing my own thinking from now on, Mother.”
